Billionaire Is Allergic To All Women But Fell For Runaway Bride Hiding In His Bathroom

The door burst open. Novi Palmer charged through it like her life depended on it.

Because it did. She slammed it shut, twisted the lock, and pressed her back against the wood, chest heaving, wedding dress billowing around her like a surrender flag.

Safe. Finally safe. And then she turned around, her scream caught in her throat. A man stood in the middle of the hotel suite, fresh from the bathroom, with nothing but a thin white towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips.

Water droplets traced lazy paths down skin so dark and smooth it seemed to glow under the afternoon light.

Rich ebony that looked like it had been kissed by the sun and polished to perfection.

His chest was broad, carved with lean muscle that spoke of discipline, not vanity. Short dreads hung over his forehead.

I’d dripping water onto a face that made Novi’s brain shortcircuit. High cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.

A jaw that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo. Full lips pressed into a hard, disapproving line.

And beneath those lips, the shadow of stubble that somehow made him look even more devastatingly attractive.

But it was his eyes that truly stopped her heart. They were black, not brown, not dark brown.

Black like polished obsidian, like ink dropped into midnight, and beneath them, shadows so deep and dark they looked painted on.

The kind of shadows that came from years of sleepless nights and secrets too heavy to carry.

He was tall, impossibly tall, the kind of tall that made Novi, at 5’3, feel like a doll who had wandered into a giant’s castle.

His shoulders were broad and even half naked and dripping wet. He radiated an authority that made her want to apologize for existing.

“Oh my god,” Novi thought, her brain finally catching up with her eyes. “He’s beautiful.

He’s terrifying. He’s beautifully terrifying.” For a full 3 seconds, neither of them moved. Then those black eyes swept over her.

The wedding dress, the smeared makeup, the wild hair escaping its elaborate pins, and his expression shifted from shock to something far more dangerous.

Pure, undiluted annoyance. “Who?” He said, his voice deep and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet.